STOCK TAKE by PURUPUSS RATED FRC

Every business has to do a stock take, even if that business is into saving lives. And if that stock take takes place on April first...

As usual, I would like to thank quiller for her help in proof reading this story. Most of the plot for this story came to me on March 31st, while I was...well, I think you can guess.

F-A-B

"Well, boys," Jeff looked at the five men seated in front of him and then at the one looking down from the portrait on the wall. "That's the plan." He received five nods of reluctant affirmation.

There was one dissenting voice. "How come Gordon's got the easy job?"

"Because he had the difficult one last time, Alan," Jeff reminded his youngest. "It's only fair that the tasks get shared about. You'll get the `easy job' next year."

"None of us like doing this," Scott said. "But it's got to be done."

"Why?" Alan asked. "It's not like we're audited or anything."

"It'll make life easier in the long run," Scott told him. "We'll know where we are."

"I know where I am," Gordon said smugly.

"Yeah," Alan said in disgust. "Lounging about while the rest of us are slaving our guts out."

"It's only for one day of the year, Alan," John said.

"Look what happened the other day," Virgil said. "I was trying to find ten HTB126 high tensile bolts, but I couldn't find any. Why?"

"You didn't have your spectacles on?" Gordon interrupted.

Virgil ignored him. "The computer was telling me that we had at least 15, but I couldn't find them anywhere. I must have wasted at least half an hour looking for something that wasn't where the computer was telling me it was."

Scott nodded in agreement. "That's why we need this stock take. So we can find how much we've got of everything and then make sure it's in its proper place. Look, Alan, I don't enjoy stock takes either. I can think of things I'd rather do than counting butterfly clips in the first aid storeroom, but it's a necessity."

"Just in case he gets a paper cut," Gordon interrupted.

Scott ignored him. "Imagine if we ran out because we thought we had 100, when we only had one. That wouldn't be very reassuring for the victim, would it? International Rescue being under-equipped."

"No." Alan reluctantly had to agree that it made sense.

"And I'm sure Gordon will be willing to give you a hand when he's finished," Jeff told him.

Alan looked appealingly at his brother. "You will help won't you, Gordon?"

"I'll see. It's hard work you know, counting our machines. One Thunderbird One, one Thunderbird Two... It could take me all day."

"Forget it," Alan growled.

"Okay, boys, so everyone knows what they are doing tomorrow?" Jeff asked. "Scott - you're counting supplies, Virgil - you're on data entry, Gordon - major equipment, Alan - componentry, Brains - lab equipment... You might like to see if Tin-Tin can help you, Brains."

"Y-Yes, Mr Tracy."

"Couldn't she help me?" Alan asked, seeing a beacon of hope.

"No. She knows the lab better than any of us, so she'd be better helping Brains. I'm sure your brothers will help you when they've finished."

"Sure, Alan," Scott said.

"Your section's just as fiddly as mine," Alan reminded him. "You'll be finished about the same time as I am."

"I'd offer to help," John said. "But it's a little tricky from up here. And I'll have my own counting to do. Thunderbird Five by one? Check." He grinned. "I'm done."

"Next year we're swapping places," Alan warned him.

"I'd help," Virgil offered, "but I'll still be getting occupational overuse syndrome, when you guys have finished your first run of counting."

"Why are you complaining?" Gordon asked. "You're used to sitting at the keyboard for hours at a time."

"There's a slight difference between a computer keyboard and a piano keyboard," Virgil reminded him.

Jeff decided to call the meeting to a close. "Anyone got anything else to say?" No one did. "That's good. Get a good night's sleep everyone. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day." He stood and moved around from behind his desk before placing a hand on Alan's shoulder. "I'll help you when I get the chance, Son."

Alan looked up at him and tried to smile through his frown. "Thanks, Dad."

Jeff walked out of the lounge.

"Well," Gordon sounded obscenely cheerful. "I'd better go have a swim now. I'll only have time for two, or three, or maybe four tomorrow... Bye, guys."

His brothers and Brains mumbled their farewells.

"I wouldn't mind so much except that he's gloating," Alan complained.

"He will help, you know that," Scott said.

"After he's taken his sweet time doing his counting. And you know what makes it even worse?" Alan asked.

"Wh-What, Alan?" Brains asked.

"You all know what day it is tomorrow?"

He received four frowns of concentration by way of reply.

"April first!" he exclaimed. "April fools day!"

The three earthbound men all groaned.

John laughed. "Boy, did I choose the right month to get space duty."

"You know what that means?" Scott asked.

"Gordon will be pulling out all the stops," Virgil said.

"N-N-No one is safe," Brains added.

"We've got to get him first," Alan stated.

"You've got to get up really early to get one over Gordon," Virgil said.

"Even earlier than Scott," John added.

"But with the five of us working together, surely we can come up with something," Alan insisted. "Think everyone!"

They thought.

Alan's baby blue eyes were screwed shut as he brain twisted and turned trying to find a solution. It would have to be a real doozy of a plan to get one over his practical joking brother. He heard a sigh.

"I'm no good at this type of thing," Virgil admitted. "I've got no ideas at all. All I can think about is the stock take tomorrow."

Alan's brain processes slewed off at a tangent.

"Stock take," Scott groaned. "It would almost be bearable if only we could make his day less easy."

Alan's thoughts were proceeding in one direction.

"I-If I could come up with a machine to h-help, you know I would," Brains offered.

Alan could feel his goal within reach.

"Something that would put everything where it's supposed to be?" John asked.

Alan saw the light. "I've got it!"

His brothers and Brains leant closer. "What?"

"John! Where's Gordon?" Alan asked as pulled his chair up so that he could whisper.

John checked his scanners. "In the pool. What have you got planned?"

"Brains!" Alan sounded excited. "Is `Sam' still working?"

Brains stared at him short-sightedly. "Yes."

"Great! Then this is what I think we should do..."

April first was like any other day, as far as Scott Tracy was concerned. His morning routine went something like this. Get up before everyone else. Go for a run before everyone else. Be at breakfast before anyone else.

This had been his routine for as long as he could remember. And just because it was April the first he saw no need to change it. In fact it was more important than usual since he was planning on making an early start on his part of the stock take.

Scott woke, stretched, and looked at the clock. Then he sat up and stretched again. Swinging his long legs out of his bed he stood and...

...Looked at the clock again.

9.00 am.

Scott jaw dropped.

He looked at his watch.

9.00 am.

He shook the timepiece, but it remained resolutely at 9.00am.

He switched on his computer.

9.01 am.

"Oh, heck! I'm late!"

Forgoing a shower, forgetting about his run, Scott threw on yesterday's clothes and dashed out of his room and into the kitchen. "I'm sorry I'm la..."

Gordon was the only person there.

Scott skidded to a stop. "Have they started the stock take? Why didn't someone wake me? Where is everyone?"

Gordon smirked. "I would say that they are still in bed."

"In bed? At 9-o-clock?"

Gordon looked at his watch. "You got your watch on upside down?"

"No," Scott looked down at his own watch to confirm.

"Then it's wrong."

"But it's always right. I regularly check it." Scott was feeling a little confused.

"It's six in the morning, Scott."

"Your watch must be wrong. Mine says that it's 9-o-clock, my clock says 9-o-clock, my compu..." The light of realisation dawned in Scott's head. "Gordon!"

Gordon's face was the picture of innocence. "Yes, Scott?"

Scott was about to give his brother a piece of his mind when there was a yawn behind him. "Mornin', Scott... Gordon."

"Good morning, Brains," Gordon said. "And how are you this fine morning?"

Brains yawned again. "Wh-Where is everyone?"

Scott was resetting his watch. "In bed."

Brains blinked at him. "In bed? Wh-What about the stock take? We were g-going to make an early start."

"We were," Scott reminded him. "But it wasn't going to be this early. Why are you up?"

Brains blinked again and pushed his spectacles back up his nose. "B-Because my alarm went off. It's seven..."

Scott sighed. "No it's not."

Brains looked at his watch. "Yes it is. See?" He held it out so Scott could get a clear view.

"I think, my friend," Scott patted Brains on the back, "that there's two possibilities. Either both you and I have been through a chronological vortex and travelled in time. Or..."

"Or?" Brains asked.

Scott turned back to Gordon. "Anything to say, little brother?"

Gordon picked up a towel. "Yep. `April fools', guys. I'm off to have my swim. See you later."

Scott watched him go. "Are you sure `Sam's' all set up correctly, Brains?" he growled.

"Oh, yes, Scott. I ch-checked it again before I went to bed."

"Good. If all goes to plan this should wipe that smirk of my brother's face."

Three hours later and Virgil was settling down at the computer keyboard and initiated the stock take programme. He'd warmed up his fingers by having his usual half hour morning practise and now all he had to do was wait.

A screen saver of a polar bear in the arctic wilderness had just flashed into life on the computer, when the first stock take sheets arrived. "Here you are, Bro," Scott said, as he brought in the list of the contents of Thunderbird One's first aid kit. "There's something to get you started."

"Thanks," Virgil accepted the sheet and put it onto the document holder. "Part Number: FAB075." He started to type with his two index fingers, spelling out each character as he typed. "`F-A-B-0-7-5' - `tab'. Checker:  `S-T' - `tab'. Entry number: `F-A-1-0-0-0-0-1' - `tab'. Quantity: `1-6'."

"I don't get it," Scott exclaimed. "You can play the piano as if someone's life depended on it, but with typing... At that rate you'll still be typing this time next week."

"I'll soon get my speed up. It's just a matter of remembering where the keys are." Virgil began on the next entry. "Part Number: F-A-B double-O four. `F-A-B-0-0-4' - `tab'. Checker stays the same. `Tab' - `tab'. Entry number: `F-A-1-0-0-0-0-2' - `tab'. Quantity: `5'. You're getting low on those 50mm crepe bandages."

"Hang on, Virg," Scott interrupted. "You've typed it wrong."

"Did I?" Virgil looked from the keyboard to the screen. "Where?"

"See," Scott pointed at the screen. "You typed..." He chuckled. "RAT double-O four. You must be thinking about Gordon."

"So I did." Virgil grabbed the mouse to move the cursor up the screen to the first field.

Nothing happened.

He pushed it around the desktop, but the on-screen cursor remained infuriatingly still. "What's wrong with this thing?" He pushed it again.

"Do you want me to get another one?" Scott offered.

"Hang on, let's have a look fir..." Virgil picked up the mouse and looked at its belly. "Gordon!"

"What's he done," Scott sighed.

Virgil showed him the pointing device. Neatly pressed over the mouse's movement detector was a sticky bit of paper. Written on the paper, clearly in Gordon's handwriting, were the words `April fool'.

Virgil pulled the paper off and tried to shift the cursor again. This time it moved about the screen. He clicked on the first field. "Now to try again. `F'..."

"No, you typed `R' again."

"I didn't. I typed an `F'!"

"Look, Virg," Scott pointed back at the screen. "You typed a `R'."

"I'm sure I typed an `F'. Look!" Virgil pressed the `F' key.

A `R' appeared on screen.

"Wait a minute," Scott picked up the keyboard. "He's only gone and swapped the keys around."

"What!" Virgil snatched the keyboard back and flipped it over. On the underside was another sticky note, adorned with the same two mocking words.

"How's it going, Virgil?"

Virgil looked at the cheerful face of his younger brother and resisted the temptation to say something scathing. "Everything's going fine, thank you, Gordon."

"No problems?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Good," Gordon grinned. "Here's my first sheet. You'll be pleased to note that we have one Thunderbird Two. See ya soon." He flapped a wave at his two brothers and went back out of the room.

Virgil looked at Scott. "Is `Sam' working?"

"Yep. We've only got to wait for the right moment..."

Gordon took a detour back to Thunderbird Two's hangar. He followed the sound of a voice into a store room.

Alan had his back to the doorway. "Rivet. Two rivets. Rivet - rivet - rivet."

"If someone were to kiss you, would you turn into a prince?"

Alan jumped. "Gordon!"

"Why are you counting those things individually? Wouldn't it be easier to weigh one, then weigh them and then divide the total by the weight of the first one to get the total number?"

"It would be easier if it was only the one part in here," Alan was sounding testy. "Someone's gone and dumped nuts and bolts and rivets all in together. Look! I'm having to measure everything with the Vernier Callipers." He held out his hand. "There's Virgil's `HTB126' high tensile bolts. They were in with the `CAB126' cahelium bolts."

"No wonder he couldn't find them."

"Are you nearly finished?" Alan was sounding hopeful. "Are you here to give me a hand?"

"Sorry, Kiddo, but I've still got my own count to do." Gordon tried to sound sympathetic. "I'll try and finish it so I can help you after lunch." He left Alan muttering under his breath.

Gordon was whistling as he wandered along the storage bays where they housed all the pod equipment. He was enjoying himself this year. Not only did he have the easiest job in the stock take, but, so far, he'd managed to get three members of the family with his practical jokes.

He remembered counting the componentry last year and it hadn't been a fun job. The nuts and bolts tended to get caught in with one another and were difficult to separate. They also had a tendency to nick your fingers if you weren't wearing gloves. A slight feeling of guilt surfaced and he pushed it back down again. He'd help Alan out when he'd finished his own counting tasks, but in the meantime, he couldn't see any harm in dragging out the process as long as possible.

As he walked past the equipment he mentally noted what was sitting in each bay. Mole, Domo, Firefly. All poised and waiting, ready to be called into action; ready to help someone in distress.

Gordon reached the end of the bay and looked at his list. One transmitter truck. Check. One Firefly. Check. He moved along the line. One Jet-Air Transporter. Check. One Thunderizer. Check. One Excavator. Check. Three Elevator Cars. Check. The fourth had never worked right since it went off course and caught fire when they'd saved the Fireflash. It was still in the maintenance bay.

One Domo. Check.

One Laser Cutter Vehicle. Check.

One Monobrake. Check.

One Mole. Ch...

Gordon stopped. He stared into the bay where The Mole should have been housed. Where it HAD been housed. He was sure he'd seen it when he last walked past.

He scratched his head in bewilderment. Then he retraced his steps to the previous bay. The Monobrake and the Laser Cutter Vehicle's sat there placidly.

Gordon turned and walked past the now empty bay to the next one. Here he found the two Recovery Vehicles. He returned to the empty bay and looked inside. Its grey wall, lined with grey ducting, mocked him. He walked in as if The Mole might have been hiding behind the canister that sat against the wall. As if a machine the size of a small building could hide behind a forty gallon drum!

Gordon moved out of the bay again and stood with his back against the granite wall. From here he could look both ways along the vehicle bays. Usually The Mole's screw nose would be visible, poking out through the bay door, but this time... nothing.

One of his brothers must have moved it. But how? How could they have moved The Mole without him seeing or even hearing them? He practically ran up and down the bays to convince himself that it hadn't been squeezed into one of the others.

Nope.

Now he knew he had to find the missing piece of equipment. He couldn't face his father and say that he had an incomplete stock check. Not when he had the easiest job of them all.

He jogged into Thunderbird Two's hangar. The great plane was standing there on her hydraulic legs, a pod beneath her, its open mouth gaping. Gordon ran up the ramp leading into the pod.

It was empty.

He cursed under his breath and walked back down the ramp to the hangar floor. "Now what?"

Now it was time to get help.

Gordon walked into Alan's storeroom and tried to act casual. "Hey, Alan."

"Hiya, Gordon. Come to give me a hand?"

"Sorry. Not yet. I've, ah, I've run into a bit of a snag."

Alan looked at his brother. "Really? What?"

"I seem to have misplaced something."

"Well get Virgil to run you off another copy of the stock take sheets."

"No. It's not that I've lo... misplaced."

Alan stopped counting. "So what have you lo-misplaced?"

"The Mmml."

"I beg your pardon."

"The Mmml," Gordon mumbled again.

"It must be the continuous chinking of all these nuts and bolts, but I can't understand you. What did you say?"

"I said I've lost The Mole!"

Alan stared at his brother. Then he laughed. "Oh, that's a good one, Gordon."

"I'm not joking."

"Yeah, sure. Don't you think you'd better get back to work and let me get back to mine?"

"I'm not joking, Alan. The Mole's not in its bay."

"Well, what have you done with it?"

"I haven't done anything. I was hoping that you knew something."

"Sorry, Gordon. But I haven't touched The Mole. I've been too busy with these blasted components. Why don't you ask Scott? I think he might be in Thunderbird Two's sickbay."

Scott was indeed in the sickbay, piles of bandages stacked up all around him. "Hiya, Gordon."

"Scott?"

"Yep."

"You haven't been in the equipment bay this morning have you?"

"This morning? No, I haven't. I've been too busy doing other things."

"Oh."

Gordon looked so downcast that Scott couldn't resist asking the logical question. "Why?"

"One of the pieces of equipment's disappeared."

"You've lost something?" Scott frowned. "What have you lost? One of the breathing packs? A laser? A ram?"

"No. Nothing like that. Something a little... bigger."

"Bigger? What have you lost, Gordon?"

"It's not that I've lost it, it's that I can't find it."

"What can't you find, Gordon?" Scott pressed.

"The Mole."

"The Mole?"

"Yes. The Mole."

"Big thing, runs on caterpillar tracks..."

"Has a screw nose. I'm glad you know what I'm talking about, Scott. But do you know where it is?"

"It was in its bay when I was in there yesterday."

"And I thought it was there this morning. But it's not there now. Come and look." Gordon pulled at Scott's sleeve.

Scott pulled himself free and a pile of bandages fell of the bunk and went rolling along the floor. "Great," he muttered. "Now I've got to tidy up this lot as well. I'm sorry, Gordon, but I'm too busy to play with you right now. And I would have thought that you would have been too busy to think of playing any more jokes on me."

"I'm not joking, Scott. Honest."

"Sure... Why don't you go annoy Virgil? I'm sure he'd appreciate the break from typing."

Gordon took Scott's advice and made his way to where Virgil was working. "Hiya, Virgil."

Virgil was flexing his fingers. "Hi, Gordon. Got some more sheets for me?"

"Ah, no."

"No?" Virgil raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you here. Shouldn't you be counting?"

By now Gordon was concerned enough to not care what anyone thought. "I can't find The Mole. Can you help me look for it?"

"The Mole?"

"Yes."

"You want me to help you find The Mole?"

"Yes."

"It's 60 feet long, 12 feet wide and weighs 12 tons. How could you lose it?"

"I thought it was in its bay, but when I came to count it, it wasn't there. I don't suppose that you..."

Virgil held up his hands. "I can honestly say that I haven't touched it this morning. Maybe Brains knows something." He turned to the engineer who'd just walked into the room. "You haven't shifted The Mole have you, Brains?"

"N-N-No. I haven't touched it. N-N-Not today. Why?"

"Gordon's lost it," Virgil explained.

"I haven't lost it," Gordon protested. "It's just not there."

"Have you asked Alan?" Virgil asked.

"Yes. He doesn't know anything."

"S-Scott?" Brains queried.

"He's up to his neck in bandages. He doesn't know anything either."

"Wh-What about John?"

"John!?" Gordon stared at Brains. "He's 22,400 miles above us. How could he shift it?"

"I m-meant that maybe he could trace it," Brains explained.

"Oh! Ah... I didn't think of that," Gordon admitted, looking embarrassed.

Virgil stretched his back. "I could do with a break. I'll come down and have a look. Coming, Brains?"

"Yes," Brains was staring at Gordon as if he were a specimen waiting to be dissected. "I sh-should be most interested."

"I would think that Scott and Alan would be most interested too," Virgil stated.

"Th-They are due for breaks," Brains added.

"Yeah. Then they can help the three of us search," Gordon nodded.

The three men were met in Thunderbird Two's hangar by Scott and Alan. "Still looking for The Mole?" Alan asked.

"Where was it when you guys last saw it," Gordon asked.

"In its bay," Alan said.

"In its bay," Scott said.

"In its bay," Virgil said.

"In its bay," Brains said.

"In its bay," Gordon sighed. "Well, I'm telling you. It's not there now."

Scott patted him on the back, as if in sympathy. "Sure. We believe you, Gordon. You've been working too hard on this stock take, haven't you?"

"Don't patronise me," Gordon snapped, shaking his brother's hand off his shoulder. "Come on! I'll show you!" He led the way into the equipment bays. "There! He stood in front of the empty bay. See! Now tell me where The Mole is?"

He turned back to face his brothers and friend.

Scott spoke into his watch. "John."

"Hi, Scott."

"Can you get us a bearing on The Mole, please."

"The Mole? Sure. It's in its bay." There was a brief flash of blue light.

Scott lowered his arm. "There you go, Gordon. It's in its bay."

"But it's not! You can see that it's not! Just look..." Gordon spun round and froze.

There, resplendent in its yellow, silver and black livery, was The Mole. Across the roof of the bay was a banner with the words, `April fools'.

Gordon's jaw dropped. "I don't believe it. How..." He turned back. "You knew!"

"Yep," Alan smirked. "We knew."

"How did you do that?"

"`Sam' helped us," Virgil explained.

"`Sam'? Who's `Sam'?" "S-Synthesised Atmospheric Manipulator," Brains reminded him.

"A hologram..." Gordon breathed. "You projected a hologram over The Mole?"

"Yeah," John spoke from Scott's watch. "You should have seen yourself, Gordon, wandering up and down looking for this huge bit of machinery. I don't know how you managed to miss bumping into it when you walked into the bay. You must have missed it by inches."

"You were watching me?"

"I was recording you, chum, so we could all have a laugh later."

Gordon grumbled something about George Orwell and `Big Brother'.

"I often wondered if we could use `Sam' for something other than rescue simulations," Alan mused. "I never thought we could use it to get one over Gordon."

Gordon's frown relaxed. "Okay. I'll admit that you got me. But don't think you've heard the end of it!" He waggled his finger in a menacing manner.

"Is this where you all are?" Jeff Tracy's voice boomed through the bays. "I thought you were all counting."

"Just having a quick break, Sir," Scott admitted.

Jeff saw the banner. "April fools" he read. "Gordon? What have you done now?"

"Me? I haven't done anything?"

"You want to take him in hand, Dad," Alan said. "Disrupting our work like this."

"Yeah," Virgil chimed in. "I was on a roll. Now I'm going to have to get back up to speed again."

"And I've lost count," Scott added.

Not to be left out, Brains added. "Tin-Tin will be w-waiting for me... to get b-back."

"Gordon," Jeff shook his head with a patience that he didn't really feel. "Have you finished your counting?"

"No, Sir. You see..."

"Then don't you think that you should get back to work?"

"Yes, but..."

"Gordon."

"Okay, okay," Gordon conceded. "I'll hurry through the rest of my count and then I'll give you a hand, Alan."

"Thanks, Bro. I'd appreciate it."

"That's what I like to hear," Jeff said. "Everyone working together. And no jokes played on anyone. Right?"

He received a six part chorus in reply. "Yes, Sir."

Jeff nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I'll see you boys at lunch."

"Yes, Sir."

"Grandma's making something special," Jeff grinned. "Make sure you don't let it get cold. And Gordon..."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Next time The Mole disappears, come and see me first. It'll save time."

Gordon grinned, his mind all ready planning revenge on his brothers. "Yes, Sir!"